ram. 


No.  34. 


"BE  YE  ALSO  READY." 

MATTHEW    XXIX  I    44. 


Henry  D was  a  laborer  irf  a  farmhouse  on  the 

outskirts  of  my  parish,  and  as  the  church  of  the  adjoin- 
ing parish  was  nearer  to  his  master's  farm  tban  my  own, 
he  always  attended  the  services  there.  He  was  a  fine 
powerful  yorng  man.  His  life  had  been  steady  and  reg- 
ular. He  had  been  a  faithful,  trustworthy  man,  and  was 
a  great  favorite  w>th  his  employer.  He  had'excellent 
health  ;  but  inflammation  seized  him.  He  was  ill  six 
days,  and  now  his  soul  is  before  God. 

'  To-day  is  Monday.  It  was  only  on  Friday  morning 
that  I  heard  of  his  illness,  and  of  course"  before  the  day 
closecLI  visited  him.  On  that  day  and  on  Saturday,  he 
seemed  to  take  very  little  iiterest  in  what  I  said  to  him. 
Oh  that  I  had  pressed  the  subject  more,  that  I  had  been 
even  more  importunate  with  him  !  On  Saturday  there 
was  some  apprehi  juflRtednot 

to  fell  him,  as  the  medical  man  feared  that  it  miijht  have  an 
unfavorable  effect  upon  the  disease.  I  remonstrated,  but 
to  no  purpose  ;  and  I  left  a  message  that  I  hoped  the 
medical  man,  who  was  expected  that  evening  again,  would 
tell  trim. 

On  Sunday  I  walked  round  to  see  him  after  my  ser- 
vices, and  found  him  better.  There  was  hope  .that  he 
would  recover.    There  was  a  change  also  in  his  manner. 


verses  I  had  read#to  hijn^^ 


2  \be  y.e  also 

He  wished  to  know  whorelrae  verses  I  had  ?ea\Mo  h'jjra* 
were  to  be  found;  lie  joined  heartily  in  the  prayers  I 
offered  up; "dwelt  especially  on  one  verse  I  had  read, 
"If  any  man  be  in  Christ,  he  is  a  new  creature;  old 
things  are  passed  away ;  bthold,  all  things  are  become 
new;"  and  heartily  said  "amen"  to  the  petition  that 
he  might  become  such  a  new  creature. 

You  will  not  wonder  that  I  now  dwell  on  these  things. 
The  end  was  close  at  hand,  closer  than  I  then  thought; 
for  this,  of  which  I  am  speaking,  was  only  yesterday, 
and  I  am  writing  in  the  early  morning  of  Monday.  I 
had  intended  to  sea  him  by  nine  o'clock  to-day,  but  I 
was  to  see  him  before  that  time.  This  morning  at  early 
dawn  I  was  awoke  by  a  request  to  go  and  see  poor  Hen- 
ry. I  at  once  feared  the~worst.  I  arose,  and  in  a  very 
few  moments  was  on  my  way  to  the  farm.  The  village 
was  quiet,  its  inhabitants  for  the  most  part  being  wrap- 
ped in  slumber.  The  bus}'  smith,  the  stroke  of  whose 
hammer  early  and  late  has  often  been  a  reproach  to  me, 
was  not  astir.  The  birds  were  awake  and  glad  in  the 
early  March  morning.  WLat  a  walk  it  was  !  how  solemn, 
how  prayerful !-  How  weak  I  felt  and  ignorant. !  how 
completely  dependent  upon  God's  Spirit ! 

Arrived  at  the  house,  all  the  usual  signs  of  sickness 
and  watching  are  apparent  at  once.  Henry  I  learn  is 
much  worse ;  they  are  applying  a  blister,  and  I  must 
wait  a  few  moments.  In  the  interval,  I  call  in  the  mas- 
ter and  a  friend  of  the  dying  man,  that  we  may  pray  for 
him.  As  we  rise  from  our  knees,  Henry's  uncle,  who 
had  arrived  last  night,  entfirs  the  room;  he  has  been 
trying,  he  says,  to  arrange  about  his  temporal  affairs,  but 
can  get  no  definite  answer.    He  thinks  that  Henry  will 


k  BE    TE    ALSO     READY.  3 

tell  mc  his  wishes.  Will  i  try  ?  1  refuse.  •  1  have  other 
masters,  I  say,  more  important  to  attend  to.  They  have 
had  all  night  to  arrange  about  the  few  clothes,  the  watch, 
and  arrears  of  wages ;  I  may  have  onl}r  a  few  minutes  to 
speak  about  the  soul.  Then-  I  ask>  Has  any  one  told 
him  his  danger  since  the  unfavorable  change  took  place? 
Can  it  be  believed,  he  has  not  yet  been  told?  "  0  God, 
and  he  so  near  tirv  judgment  !"'  J  go-up  stairs  ;  he  knows 
me,  and  grasps  my  hand.  Tenderly  I  tell  him  that  he 
cannot  live.  My  heart  is  full.  I  beseech  him  to  give  me 
all  his  attention.  lie  takes  some  ice  to  cool  his  mouth, 
that  he  may  better  attend  to  me  5  and  then  he  is  "  rea- 
<Jy."  Read}'' I  with  that  poor  weak  body,  with  that  fev- 
ered brain,  with  that  wandering  attention.  Is  this  a 
condition  in  Which  to  transact  the  business  of  eternity  ? 
But  he  is  "ready."  Every  moment  is  precious.  His 
mind  may  wander  again  directly. 

"  Henry,"  I  remark  to  him,  ;:  I  want  you  just  to  think 
of  two  things — your  sin  and  your  Saviour;  put  all  else 
away  except  just  those  two  things.  Your  sui  great — in 
thought,  word  and  deed.  Conscience  will  tell  you.  Try 
to  recollect.  Y  mi  have  been  sinning  since  you  knew 
right  from,  wrong  ;  you  have  forgotten  God,  refused  his 
invitations,  often  tran»gre.-sed  against  him;  your  sins 
in  his  sight  cry  against  you  for  judgment;  they  are  a 
fearful  load,  and  will  press  you  down  to  hell." 

Here  was  a  sermon,  upon  the  receiving  of  which  (hu- 
manly speaking)  depended  hls'soul's  salvation  ;  and  yet 
it  bad  to  be  compressed  into  two  or  three  miiiates,"and 
this  great  truth  of  man's  sin  to  be  stated  in  a  few  broken 
words  ! 

And  then  the  Saviour  ready  to  save  him — dying  to 
save  the  lost — willing  to  receive  all  who  come  to  him — a. 


4  BE    YE    ALSO     HEADY. 

\ 

perfect,  all-powerful,  loving  Saviour,-  blotting  out  as  a 
thick  cloud  of  transgressions.  Oh  !  what  a  message  is 
this  to  take  to  a  dying  man  I  What  other  message 
could  suit  sue1!  a  one  than  that,  "Believe  on  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be  saved  ?" 

How  thankful  we  are  at  such  times  for  the  blessed 
truth  of  the  salvation  of  the  penitent  thief — for  the  type, 
of  the  brazen  serpent — for  those  words,  "  Though  your 
sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow;  though 
they  be  red  like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as  wool."  He 
repeats  those  words,  .and  seems  to  grasp  at  thein  as  suit- 
ed to  his  case.  He  takes  hold  thankfully  of  the  hymn, 
u  Rock  of  age?,  cleft  for  me,"  and  repeats-  it  after  me. 
"  Do  you  repent  of  your  sins,  Henry  ?"  "  "  I  do."  "  Do 
you  believe  that  Jesus  takes,  your  sins  away?"  "  I  do." 
Oh  !  how  the  minister's  soul  ciings  to  a  straw  in  such  a 
case.  My  reason  and  experience  confess  these  expres- 
sions at  such  a  time  to  be  but  straws  ;  and  yet  I  cling  to 
them.     They  are  all  that  I  have. 

Then  the  poor  fevered  brain  wanders  again.  He  rises 
up,  and  then  throws  himself  down  upon  his  pillow,  cry- 
ing, "  It  is  all  darkness."  Poor  soul.!  What  is  it  that 
is  darkness  1  Is  it  that  the  windows  of  the  body  are 
growing  dim  and  dark  ?  Or  is  it  that  the  soul  is  looking 
•  out  upon  t lie  vast  ocean  of  futurity,  and  can  see  nothing 
but  thick  darkness  and  a  horrible  tempest?  Oh!  how 
thick  and  murky  dark  it  •most  be  at  such  an  hour  to 
every  soul  that  has  not  the  eye  of  faith,'  to  s'ee  Jesus, 
and  the  pearly  gates  of  the  heavenly  Jerusali  m  to  which 
he  is  conducting  it !  ,  "It  is  all  darkness,"  he  cried,  as 
he  threw  himself  down,  on  his  pillow,     ^o  ijever  stirred 


BE    YE    ALSO     READY.  5     " 

P  By  his  side  I  sit,  holding  his  hand  in  mine,  speaking  to 
him/though  he  does  not  answer,  pointing  out  the  way  to 
that  poor  blind  soul,  not  knowing  what  the  soul  Is  about,  " 
or  what  consciousness  there  stilJ  may  be.  But  still 
pointing  to  Christ,  the  only  refuge,  seeking  to  show  the 
way,  which  is  so  narrow,  and  to  make  it  plain  and  easy,  if  I 
may,  to  this  poor  soul  after  whom  the  avenger  of  blood 
is  fast  pressing.  Is  the  soul  hasting?  Does  it  seethe 
way?  Is  it  faintly  pressing  on  ?  Is  it  received  within 
the  refuge?  Is  it  safe?  Is  it  acting  faith  on  Christ 
now,  while  the  body  is  too  weak  to  express  it  ?  I  can- 
not tell.     He  does  not  answer  my  questions. 

Still  I  contiiu*  Text  after  text,  slowly,  solemnly, 
prayerfully,  crying  for  -help,  I  repeat;  and  then,  "Do 
you  hear  me,  Henry  ?"  After  an  interval,  faintly  conies 
the  answer,  "  I  hear."  He  hears  ;  I  thank  God.  The 
word  of  God  is  powerful — that  is  my  hope,  even  against 
hope.  Again  the  precious  words  of  Scripture;  again 
questions:  but  no  answer.  The  soul  is  looking  closely 
at  eternity  now  ;  no  leisure  to  attend  t«  me — no  strength  ; 
tie  senses  no  longer  do  their  otlice.  Still,  for  the  life's 
sake,  I  continue  repeating  the  words  of  God — "a  lucid 
moment  may.  return.  %     \ 

Then  we  kneel  and  commend  him  to  God,  and  rvy 
aloud  for  him,  pleading  the  merits  of  the  sinner's  Sa- 
viour.   . 

We  rise,  and  I  bid  the  uncle  take  my  place.  The  eyes 
are  fixed;  there  is  no  pulse.  "It  is  all  over,"  said  the 
uncle.     He  has  passed  away  without  a  s'rugglei 

"  All  over  ;"  far  from  it ;  rather  all  hnjva.  Xev^  scenes 
are  opening  now  upon  that  soul  which  has  just  escaped 
so  silently  from  the  body.     What  scenes  they  are,  wheth-     • 


G  BE    YE    ALSO     READY. 

er  light  or  dark,  whether  full  of  joy  or  agony,  I  cannot 
tell.  What  messengers  came  to  take  him  hence — wheth- 
er the  ministers' of  God's  awful  justice,  or  the  angels  of 
mercy — I  know  not.  I  only  know  that  the  soul  which 
has  just  escaped  from  that,  body,  lying  before  me,  is  now 
gone  before  God.  to  render  its  accaunt  of  the  deeds  done 
in- the  body. '  D'ld  it  close  by  faith  with  Christ's  offer  of 
mercy  before  it  left  the  body  ?  That  is  the  question- now 
— a  question  which  cannot  be  answered  till  I  myself 
'stand  before  the  same  great  throne. 

All  is  not  over ;  a  larger,  longer  life  has  begun,  which 
can  never  end.  Is  it,  for  this  soul,  truly  life,  even  life 
eternal?  Or  is  it  that  living  death,  "where  their  worm 
dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched  ?" 

Reader,  may  these  thoughts  sink  into  your  heart  and 
mine.  We  may  be  nearer  death  and  judgment  than  we 
think  we  are.  The  veil  that  separates  time  from  eternity  is 
very  thin,  and  we  may  break-through  it-  when  we  least 
expect  it.  The  moment  we  do  so,  a  wondrous  light  will  be 
thrown  on  all  the  things  of  time.  How  different  will 
they  seem  to  us  to  what  they  seem  now !  Even  the 
minister  does  not  truely  realize  the  vast  importance  of 
his  work,  or  the  worth  of  the  soul.  But  the  moment  we 
break  through  that  thin  veil,  we  shall  see  and  know  it 
•ail.  Then,  if  you  be  not  in  Christ,  what  misery  will 
await  you — what  remorse  !  How  you  will  hate  yourself 
for  throwing  away  eternal  joys,  and  for  laying  up  for 
yourself  a  treasury  of -wrath  which  shall  never  be  ex- 
hausted. 

Don't  put  off  repentance  and  turning  to  God.  You 
are  not  stronger  than  Henry  D— — .  Your  life  is  not 
more  secure.     Your  sickness  may  be  as  short  as  his  ;  nay  J 


BE    YE    ALSO     READY.  7 

vour  death  may  come  more  suddenly.  Even  if,  on  your 
death-bed,  you  profess  repentance  and  conversion,  how 
untrustworthy  these  professions  are  at  such  a  time! 
What  hope  will  your  friends  be  able  to  entertain  ?  What 
reasonable  hope  have  I  of  my  poor  parishoner  ? 

But  the  bodily  life  is  over,  and  I  turn  to  leave  the 
room.  "Be  ye  also  ready, :'  are  my  words,  "for  at  such 
an  hour  as  ye  think  not  the  Son  of  man  cotneth."  GoiDg 
m  down  stairs,  I  see  the  companion  of  this  poor  man  ;  I  tell 
him  that  he  is  gone,  and  I  beseech  him  to  give  his  heart 
to  Christ.  "I  will,"  he  said  sobbing.  Will  he?  It 
must  be  my  part  often  to  remind  him  of  his  promise  and 
of  his  feelings  at  that  time. 

And  now  I  pass  out  into  the  open  air.  It  is  still  ear- 
ly ;  but  what  a  solemn  scene  has  this  day  already  wit- 
nessed !  The  men  are  going  to  their  work.  The  world 
does  not  stop,  though  a  soul  has  just  departed.  How 
true  it  is,  that  in  the  midst  of  death'  we  are  in  life,  as 
well  as  that  "  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death."  The 
activity,  the  common  work,  for  the  moment  jars  upon 
my  feelings.  I  speak  to  the  men  as  I  pass.  I  tell  them 
that  the  soul  is  flown.  I  press  upon  them  the  concerns 
of  eternity;  and  then  I  come  home  to  pray  for  myself 
and  for  those  that  remain,  and  to  make  this  record,  that 
I  may  be  stirred  up  and  reminded  in  time  to  come.  -..  id 
may  the  Holy  Spirit  impress  on  every  reader  the  solemn 
warning  of  the  Saviour's  words,  "  Be  ye  also  ready  !"' 


EE    TK    ALSO     Fl 

s    HYMN. 


"While  life  prolongs  its  precious  light 
Mercy  is  found  and  peace  is  givenj 

But  soon,  ah  soon  !  approaching  night 
Shall  blot  out  every  hope  of  heav'n. 

While  God  invites,  How  blest  the  day! 

How  sweet  the  gospel's  charming  sound- 
Come  sinners  haste,  oh.  haste  away, 

"While  yet  a  pard'ning  God  he's  found. 

Soon,  borne  on  time's  most  rapid  wing, 
Shall  death  command  you  to  the  grave, 

Before  his  bar  your  spirits  bring, 
And  none  be  found  to  hear,  or  save. 

In  that  lone  land  of  deep  despair,   . 

No  Sabbath's  heaVnly  light  shall  rise  ; 
No  God  regard  your  bitter  pray'r, 

Nor  Saviour  call  you  to  the  skies. 


RICHMOND,      VA: 
PRESBYTERIAN      COMMITTEE    OF    PUBLICATION. 


Hollinger  Corp, 
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